Free The Sworn by Gail Z. Martin Page B

potatoes.”
    Cam’s smile widened. “And in my experience, no matter how bleak it gets, men will always find coin for something to drink. Perhaps I can borrow someone from Rhosyn’s father’s guild to set up shop in Brunnfen. With a percentage coming to the lord, it might work out well all ways around.”
    “See, thinking like the lord already,” Renn said, clapping Cam on the shoulder. “Come on inside, both of you. I won’t promise you the kind of dinner you get at the palace, but the cook’s been working up a welcome home meal and I don’t want it to get cold!”
    Two servants appeared in order to carry the travelers’ saddlebags upstairs and take their cloaks. Cam and Rhistiart followed Renn into the great room. After the long ride, Cam’s limp was pronounced and his injured legached. Renn seemed not to notice the limp. The room was much as Cam remembered it, a long, cold hall with a huge fireplace at one end. It was too warm to have the fire lit, though come winter, a bonfire would scarcely heat Brunnfen’s cold stone. A layer of candle smoke hung near the ceiling from the tallow candles. The unmistakable smell of roasting goose filled the air, along with the scent of leeks, onions, and fresh bread. Cam’s stomach growled, and even Rhistiart looked hungry.
    Three places were set on the long, empty table. A pitcher of ale and tankards sat next to pewter dishes that were dented and dinged from hard use. Cam looked at the bare walls and frowned.
    “I remember there being tapestries,” he murmured.
    Renn sighed. “There were. Alvior had them burned after Father’s death, Crone take his soul. Not that I was necessarily fond of the pictures on the tapestries, but they did help keep down the chill. Quite a few things disappeared like that—either destroyed when Alvior was in one of his moods or, more likely, sold off to raise money for his pet rebels.”
    They sat down at the table and a plump woman in her middle years brought out a roast goose on a platter. Cam could tell the woman was trying to get a good look at him without staring.
    “I hope this is to your liking, Lord Cam,” she said with an awkward curtsey. “Master Renn told us you’re used to the fancy food they serve at the palace.”
    Cam eyed the goose and the baking dishes full of vegetables that two serving girls placed on the table. He met the woman’s gaze. “Believe me when I tell you that after three weeks on the road, no meal has ever smelled or looked as good.”
    The plump woman blushed. “Thank you, m’lord. I’m sure you don’t remember me, but I was a kitchen girl when you and m’lady Carina were just little. You used to nip dried fruit from the pocket of my apron and I pretended not to notice.”
    Cam laughed. “I do remember!”
    The woman chuckled. “Now that you’re home, I’ll bake up some fresh cakes for you by evening.”
    There was silence as the three men ate. Even Rhistiart paid more attention to his plate than to conversation. When they were finished, the servants brought out a warm plum pudding and a pitcher of mulled wine, then left them alone once more.
    Cam leaned back and sipped at his drink. “So what made you suspect that Alvior had thrown in with the Divisionists?” he asked, watching Renn.
    Renn was quiet for a few moments, with a sad expression. “Looking back, I should have guessed sooner. I didn’t even realize at first that Alvior had murdered Father. Made it look like an accident, but later, I could see that he’d arranged it.” He knocked back the rest of the wine as if it were brandy, a gesture that told Cam quite a bit about how hard the years had been for his younger brother.
    “You have to understand, after you and Carina… left, there was no one to take my part against Father—or Alvior.” He turned his face in profile so that Cam could see the scar that sliced through his right eyebrow down onto his cheek. “Alvior gave me that one night when I got in his way. Must have been